


Colonial Templar Wolves

by Luthienberen



Series: Colonial Templar Wolves [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Dark, F/M, Friends bonding, Friendship, Gen, Historical Canonical Relationships, Historical References, M/M, POV Alternating, Possessive Behavior, The French-Indian War, The Seven Years War, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 19:41:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2480099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthienberen/pseuds/Luthienberen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The adventures of the Colonial Rite of the Templar Order during the French-Indian War as told by each member. As the Templars prosper during the war, extending their control steadily over the Colonies they utilise a gift that not even the Assassins are aware of: they are werewolves.</p><p>Haytham has every intention of using this is to his advantage: within his pack, among the humans and against the Assassin Brotherhood.</p><p>It is perhaps unfortunate that two of their members Ben Church and Charles Lee are not aware that their fellow brothers are werewolves. However, this will be remedied soon as Haytham has every intention of offering up this precious gift. Whether they have the choice to refuse is another thing. </p><p>Ben and Charles are shortly going to realise that werewolves aren’t patient with things – or people – they want and there is no option out.</p><p>The other pack members are simply amused and horrified by turns, but in John Pitcairn’s opinion the sooner they are a full pack the better. William has enough on his hands co-ordinating the alliance with the Six Nations. Thomas as usual is in it for the money, women and bloodlust: more in the know the better the hunt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One - John Pitcarin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Please note that I clicked ‘Choose Not to Use Archive Warnings’! The tags that are included are a very general guide to the contents of this fic but do not cover by any means everything that might occur. Expect lots of bonding between friends yes, but some bits will be dark...if in doubt remember: werewolf fic! If you need to ask, please just send me a comment here or on tumblr. Proceed with caution._
> 
> This fic will have a mixture of slash, gen and het, depend on the characters involved and not all the relationships are established yet (Haytham/Charles for example). If you have any questions re: this please do ask. :)
> 
> Cross-posted on tumblr, now posting here as well.

_1758_

John Pitcairn doused one of the lamps in his small room before moving to the window that provided the sole outlook in his room to the world beyond. Opening the shutters he peered out carefully ensuring that he huddled to one side, so he couldn’t be seen by anyone outside.

It was hardly likely he would be noticed for his window looked out into a world full of tall trees that filled the endless leagues that was the Frontier. Dusk had fallen and as John surveyed the surroundings he saw how it shadowed the world, casting the small area at the back of the house into a dim eerie hush.

The house stood within roughly a clearing the shape of a rectangle. A single track stretched towards the front of the building and then led away. No other manmade track or road bent its way towards this abode and John’s room was positioned at the very back of the house.

Here, the low building of simple oak lumber was verged by grass which ran to a wooden fence. Beyond were the trees. They stood as tall and silent sentinels, almost grim and menacing in their vigil. This did not alarm John at all; he rather appreciated the camouflage they promised and was eager to slip into that world.

The house was Templar property, purchased ostensibly as a waypoint for one of their many businesses, where messengers could stop to rest before moving on or to restock supplies. However, this was simply a front and while Haytham always maintained a presence of riders coming and going, the main purpose was for the inner circle to have a safe retreat.

Turning away, John used the light of the last lamp to navigate to the trunk that stood by the far wall. The room was very small and it would be easy to trip up.

A small desk was crammed into a corner adjacent to the window and a bed took up the remaining space. There was only room left for a trunk against the far wall, leaving a narrow space between the wall and bed.

Dark wood panelling covered the walls and flooring making the room very dark now in those funny moments between the setting sun and rising moon. John squeezed between the bed and trunk and sitting on the bed began to pull off his clothing. First he removed his beloved pistols that had delicate and intricate scrolling carved into the metal, with his initials also inscribed on the silver surface. They were a true beauty and spokesman for Scottish smithing.

Gently laying the pistols on the trunk John eased his boots off and then his trousers, coat, waistcoat, necktie and shirt until he was in his undergarments. Without further ado he shucked this last remnant of ‘civilisation’ and stood naked in the rapidly darkening room. Only his wig remained and this he gladly pulled off and set on his colourful waistcoat.

The lone light flickered and spat as the wick burned low. Smiling John picked up a saddle bag and withdrew a canvas wrapped package. He placed it on the bed.

With a reverence that bordered on worshipful John undid the ties and revealed a belt and a bottle of salve. Carefully unstopping the bottle he poured the fragrant cream onto his hand. Dipping the fingers of his left hand into the salve he applied a line across his cheekbones, along the ridge of his nose, on his upper lip and his forehead.

Collecting the remaining salve between his palms he smeared the cool thick mixture onto his belly brushing the top of his groin ere wiping his hands clean along the top of his legs, rubbing a little into his ankles.

John felt his breathing become heavier as excitement pooled in his belly, the scent of the salve was familiar and conjured images of running fleet of foot through the snow and green glades of Scotland. In his mind’s eye he envisioned the crystal clear lochs that gleamed in the sparkling sun. A desire to see his country and wife rose and John clenched his teeth against the fierce sensation that was like swallowing burning whiskey.

He would see his wife again, once Haytham had made more progress in destroying those damned Assassins.

Trembling from excitement, loneliness and desire that were a compound of wishing to see his wife and what was to come, John picked up in gentle hands the belt. The belt was finely fashioned from wolf skin, the fur a silvery grey hue, deep and fine.

John raised the belt and sniffed, shuddering as the pungent odour of musk and blood enveloped him. Now his breathing was harsher and John hurriedly secured the belt with the clasp crafted from a wolf claw. He ensured that the claw clasp was at his side and not touching his belly.

Stretching he padded to the window and casting one more glance at the now almost dark forest John pushed the glass open and dropped out to the ground. He pushed the window shut, only leaving a sliver open so he could climb back in the morning. Now crouched in the shrubbery lining the perimeter under his room John paused and listened.

He didn’t mind the scratches from the plant on his skin – they would heal soon enough. There was nothing, but the normal night-time sounds of animal life. Breathing heavier now with anticipation he glanced at the house behind, saw nothing with his rather excellent vision and bolted for the fence.

He was a streak in the deepening dusk, too fast for anyone to notice as he leaped the fence in a flawless action. Landing in the bushes John breathed strangely, his body elongated for a moment ere he settled back. Grinning, John pushed through the bushes, staying low until he was under the embrace of the sylvan canopy.

Standing straight John inhaled the crisp air, untainted by the milling human population of Boston. Uncaring of his nakedness bar his belt John placed his hand on a particular tree whose roots were partially exposed. Thick and long, they twisted to form a cage, as easy to trip over as tent pegs.

Alert for any human presence John inhaled the scent of tree sap. Above, the moon was low in the sky, beams just reaching him through the tree roof. It was not yet full, the ivory object merely over the half-way mark.

Knowing he was utterly alone John smiled, teeth strangely white. “May the Father of Understanding guide us, showing the way. Let a true follower of Romulus enter and all deceivers perish.”

All became still, the air turned diamond like, a many fractured web that for an instant was tangible. Then as the earth cracked and the roots unwound the air opened before John to reveal a long silver tunnel. Smiling John stepped forward and instantly the door shut behind him, roots twining and the air returning to normal.

Ahead of him stretched a long tunnel consisting of tangled tree roots, earth compacted into gnarly walls curving over him to form a roof of rock and plant. The only illumination came from eerie ‘crystals’ that they had found in a river shown to them by friendly Natives, (thanks to William), that emitted a natural light when exposed to the sun for a month and lasted for ages. William’s research suggested that they were left by the precursors whoever they may be.

It was a scene that would shatter the heart of a mere man unless he was one of tremendous conviction, as the silver tinted all in the other-worldliness reminiscent of old fairy tales of the sidhe.

Or of course, was what he was. Normally he would change here or indeed still be clothed, yet so much time had passed since he could transform that John fed his yearning to run free and did so now, secure in the knowledge that none could track him or observe.

Inhaling the aura of the earth John broke into a lope and within minutes had reached the end of the winding tunnel. There he paused as the door was flat and the roots much lower. A human could crawl through but not upright. He would not be human.

Silence curled around him in bosom of the earth as Time waited.

Crouching John rested his palms on the earth and tilting his head back saw the moon painted on the canvas plastered on the roof. It hung low in the sky, beams reaching to him on the black cloth. It was not yet full, the ivory object merely over the half-way mark.

The senses were drawn in by it. A human would be lost. This was for the world between worlds.

Allowing his mind to fall into that realm John lifted his hands and collecting a little of the salve from his forehead he now massaged the fragrant cream onto his chest. Going to the belt and moving it around him so the claw clasp rested on his belly John shuddered as his anticipation swelled, so that his limbs trembled and his mouth filled with salvia.

Now he was ready.

He completed the ritual then. Bending his head he _thought_ of long limbs strong yet slim; he imagined a body long and powerful, of a broad chest and lungs that can drive a howl through bone and sinew, freezing the blood.

He _scented_ the fresh pure pine needles, the rich earth and decaying foliage. He tasted the copper tang of blood and the deep flavour of deer. He felt thick fur bristle and sprout over his body, a sheath to ward off the cold and enemy attacks. He heard the rustle of life in the bushes and in the trees, and the fall of foxes loping.

John gasped as fangs and sharp teeth pressed into his lower lip and with an almighty squeeze he twisted and went still…

Calming his breathing John flexed and relaxed. Head still bowed John panted for a long moment allowing himself to adjust for it had been a long time.

Only once he had settled did he open his eyes and before him were two mighty paws, claws at the edges. Stretching his elongated from John turned and licked his shoulder espying a good strong, bushy silver tail. Grinning – if a wolf could indeed grin – John felt ready to enjoy the night.

Padding to the door John spoke in a voice that was low and heavy, “A follower of Romulus seeks exit with a hungry belly and bloody thirst.”

The roots yet again curled back and John easily squeezed under the arch and out into the Frontier.

\-----

The yipping of foxes met John as he pulled his tail out from the doorway which instantly shut behind him. To an untrained eye it appeared nothing more than a tangle of tree limbs, but to John it smelled and looked different.

He was truly in the Frontier now, the Templar safe-house a mile or so behind. The tunnel permitted safe travel without fear of discovery and ensured that wolf prints did not confusingly become human. They had to be careful as the native people of this land knew well their stories of shape shifters and skin walkers. The Colonial people have enough from Germany and Eastern Europe that tales of werewolves would still linger in many families, whether or not they were believed.

Best to be careful and not sorry as Haytham always decreed.

Now what to do? John sniffed the air and scented deer. He was hungry and he might be fortunate to secure a lone doe. Loping through the dark trees, lit only by moonlight the forest nonetheless appeared bright as day for John.

It was a great pity that William wasn’t with him, John liked spending time with his friend. They had terrific hunts, whiling away hours simply in each other’s company: grooming, drinking from pure streams or rain puddles and exploring the Frontier and evading true wolves and bears.

It was plenty of fun. True, he could solicit the company of Thomas or the Grandmaster, but Thomas’ pleasures ran more to friendly women and tankards of beer; thank goodness he had the common sense not to devour those women once he had finished. The terror of a mob and the threat of an angry Grandmaster enough to stay him.

As for the Grandmaster he was very busy stabilising their Order and narrowing their search for the Assassin Order. He also rather preferred the company of Charles, who unfortunately like Benjamin wasn’t a werewolf, nor did either man yet know that werewolves were very real and walked among them.

Consequently, it was rare that John had the opportunity to run with his pack mates. A pack…without Charles and Benjamin, but that would soon be remedied. Well, enough moping around, tears would not solve his problem with hunting or make the most of his chance to be in wolf form.

Shrugging off his loneliness that was only temporary anyway, John set his nose to the ground and tailed the scent of the deer every now and then lifting his head to scent the pure air and cock his ears to eke out the deer.

Shortly he heard the sounds of near silent footfalls, the tell-tale hooves upon rustling shrubs. He was in a stand of trees that opened out into a clear space reaching for a few hundred yards. A road of sorts wound through here and the forest had been cleared slightly to allow rest for weary travellers.

Not a proper inn or tavern, but more a wayside where a peddler for example might haul over and huddle down. A more enterprising fellow might climb into the handy oak tree and onto the wooden beam platform to be safe from most predators.

Currently there were no humans present, only a lone deer nosing at the few bushes that scattered the area, steadily progressing towards John’s position. The distant cries of mating foxes that startled inexperienced humans barely distracted John.

Lowering to his belly John waited for the doe to focus on a bush and carefully eased out. On paws as quiet as an owl’s wing beats John slithered to the nearest bush. Creeping amidst the strands of plants that were just starting to burst with the early flowers of spring and bear fruit, John crouched.

The doe had not flicked even one ear towards him, she was more anxiously peering around in front of her. Grinning, John waited, patience the best virtue of any predator. Bush by bush the doe pranced to him and finally she was bending her head to the fruit a centimetre from John.

John lunged and fastened his jaws on the supple neck causing the doe to thrash but for a single breath ere he crunched and the life drained from her. Not pausing John carefully dragged her into the safety of the trees and checked the ground, covering any traces of marks.

Happily he set about eating his meal and was just tearing through warm hide to hot flesh and organs when he heard footsteps.

Human ones.

Curious John raised his head, licking messy chops. On the road ahead appeared a lone traveller. Normally John wouldn’t have heeded this much, yet four oddities arose:

Firstly, the traveller was a woman. Unusual, though John had respect in a woman being perfectly capable of defending herself, he knew most Colonial women would not be permitted to wander the Frontier alone.

Secondly, the woman was clad strangely. Not in a dress, but in an overcoat that went down to her knees, not disguising her worn trousers, the smell of oil reaching his sensitive nose. Waterproof then. Her boots were cared for yet stained from journeys.

Thirdly, she bore weapons, again not unusual for a traveller in the Frontier. And for women, very sadly a necessity more than for men. However, the glimpse of the dagger at her hip was intriguing. The style tailored and polished. A musket was thrown over her shoulder plus a quiver and arrow. A bit too armed for normal travelling.

Fourthly, she bore on her left arm something John would never mistake. An arm bracelet like Haytham’s. A device that no other Templar wore.

She was an Assassin.

Well, the night had grown more interesting. Abandoning his meal John watched. She was swaying from…John’s nose twitched. Blood? Faint, so faint he had not scented it above her oil, sweat and heavy perfume.

The Assassin sank on the ground by the tree platform, too tired to climb. John did nothing but watched.

Hours passed and whenever the Assassin nodded off John quickly took a bite. When he was certain she would not wake for an hour at least John dragged his kill further away to stave off random bears.

Then he sat again. Suddenly, as the moon began its descent a lone man ran up. His mark was obvious - didn’t these Assassins have horses?

Alert, John yawned to shake away any drowsiness.

“Meryl! Wake up. Are you hurt?”

The woman stirred and gasped, “Only a side wound. It’s mostly healed, but I could go no further.”

“Then I shall assist. Did you obtain any knowledge on the Templar?”

“No, Charles Lee wasn’t alone. He was surrounded by his lackeys. I would have stayed however, the Grandmaster was coming and none can escape his vigil.”

“Damn.”

The woman groaned. “Nevermind,” the man said, “We’ll get you home.”

So they were going to their safe-house? He had to follow. This could help them destroy the Brotherhood. On stealthy paws John rose and followed, a mere shadow, part of the night.

It took two touch and go hours for the Assassins to reach the outskirts of Boston – and that was when they finally harnessed a horse! Blatantly neither knew how to ride, amateurs. However, no horse could outstrip a werewolf so John maintained an easy gait.

Once at Boston he closed in and flowed as the night past city guards. None noticed his passage. Through the streets he padded, hardly anyone about and at last the Assassins reached their safe-house and John laughed to himself. How quaint.

Their quarters were a milliner’s shop. Unlikely as a hothouse for assassins! And furthermore, the hasty opening and shutting of the entrance drifted on the draft the name, “Achilles” and his scent.

The Colonial Templar Order now knew without doubt the scent of the elusive Master of the Assassins and John would ensure the others knew it too.

Tonight marked the end of the Colonial Assassin Brotherhood.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1.) This fic is set during the French-Indian War in Colonial America, which has already started and been going on for a little while (it is 1758). 
> 
> 2.) Some historical events will appear. :)
> 
> 3.) Each chapter is going to be from the perspective of one of the Inner Circle.
> 
> 4.) I began this before news of Assassin’s Creed Rogue came out, but I’ll include Shay when I know more about him, until then he’ll appear vaguely.
> 
> 5.) Andrey Potemkin was named by [sebastiandragon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SebastianDragon)! :) Mieszko Gorski is my named character. They are Templar OCs who are in America assisting with the rise of the Colonial Templar Order, from Russian and Polish background respectively and are werewolf guards as it were for Charles & Benjamin!


	2. Thomas Hickey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas Hickey seeks the pleasures in life.

_1758 Boston_

The alley between the houses was dark to the verge of being almost impossible to distinguish friend from stranger, (or foe if you had enemies, which Thomas Hickey suspected as a Templar he had plenty of). Not that it made any difference to him and he happily strolled down the cobbled path, drawing with him his companion who giggled in excitement.

Thomas smirked and pausing between a tavern and a shut goods shop Thomas pushed his girl against the tavern. Raucous voices filled the air, words muffled only by the wall, at least for humans, as he could discern them quite well. He wasn’t perturbed about being discovered as the guards patrolling the streets would not embark down such a dark corridor unless they heard anything and between the loud singing, rough clientele of the tavern and the brawlers occasionally frothing over into the street, they wouldn’t be bothered by this area.

Thomas had no intention of causing any disturbance or at least any ruckus that could be heard by the guards, for he could be quiet and discrete contrary to Charles’ opinion on his abilities.

The woman smiled, barely visible in the night and Thomas grinned back. The glow from the solitary window high up on the first floor, from one the rooms most like, cast a very pale orange light that did not reach them. Thomas did not need the assistance. The stars were sufficient for a werewolf even when in human form.

Leaning in close Thomas inhaled the scent of her thick red hair, the fragrance of beef stew from the kitchen she worked in entangled in the fine mane. Salvia thickening his mouth Thomas nuzzled Freda’s hair, easily conjuring an image of eating the meaty chunks and downing the liquid.

Thomas licked one stray strand and whispering lowly in her ear asked, “Now Freda, what delights were ya promising me just a few moments ago?”

He kissed her under the chin, pushing his entire frame against her curvaceous body. Freda sighed and titled her head back exposing blatantly the long column of her neck and the swell of her breasts.

Freda responded breathlessly as he began to kiss and suckle the tanned flesh, revelling in the taste. “A quick tumble wasn’t it Thomas?” She rolled her hips and Thomas groaned appreciatively around his mouthful as his cock twitched and swelled.

He was pleased with her bold answer for he had no time with modest women who protected their virtue – leave that type for the others.

“Hmmm, that it was Freda.” Turning his head Thomas captured her lips and plundered the full mouth and it was wonderful as she replied with equal fervour, tongue licking at his roaming mouth.

Hunger grew in his belly and Thomas knew he had to have her, so without further ado he yanked her up. Freda cried out in shock, but thankfully Thomas was occupying her mouth. Nevertheless he paused in his efforts in raising her skirts to hiss, “Quiet Freda, we don’t want the guards after us.”

“Sorry,” gasped Freda who obligingly wrapped her legs around his waist so he could position himself better. Pinning her to the tavern wall mainly with his body Thomas reached under Freda’s long skirts and wanted to howl in delight, wet already.

“Eager little bitch,” he snarled, words lost to Freda who moaned and pressed down onto his fingers, warm flesh engulfing them as he gently stroked her, eliciting delightful whimpers and mutters for him to move harder. Arousal filled the air and Thomas felt almost drunk on the intoxicating scent. His breeches were painfully tight and knowing he had to act quickly, Thomas decided patience could wait for another time. Withdrawing his fingers Thomas undid his breeches uncaring of the slickness now staining the material.

“I’m gonna fuck you until you want to scream but _can’t_ ,” his voice barely above a growl. Freda just panted, eyes hard, “Less talk Thomas. I’ll believe you when you act.”

Laughing Thomas pressed even closer and guided his swollen manhood into her and began thrusting hard, swallowing Freda’s initial gasp. After a moment of thrusting Thomas released her mouth and buried his head into her bosom. Damn he loved titties especially when they threatened to burst from a woman’s stays.

Tightness and delicious wet heat around his cock and a heaving chest under his hungry mouth made him giddy. As he lapped near the tip of Freda’s stay, the image of her nipples rose in his mind; of the dark nubs, stiff but sensitive under his mouth and Thomas shuddered at the shot of arousal that spiked in him. It stirred the embers of a ferocious appetite that always lurked near the surface and Thomas thrust harder as the beast within awoke from its slumber.

Trying to appease his new hunger Thomas turned his face so his cheek lay against Freda’s heaving bosom, vibrating with her lusty moans, echoing with the beat of her blood.

Thomas shifted again, nosing the beautiful the hollow of her throat and he could almost see the scarlet blood under the thin sheath of skin.

Sighing Thomas raked his teeth over the spot. How would her flesh taste if he bit her; if he ripped at her throat, blood jetting out so he could drink deep of her precious life? Even as he still thrust into her body how would it taste, how would she scream? Well maybe not with her throat torn, but as her life flowed from her, what would be her terror and pain as he tore a chunk from her full breasts and swallowed fat and muscle?

Thomas was near overcome and he found himself preparing to bite even as he was now, teeth sharper than normal. Only the clatter back in the world of men disturbed him and prevented Thomas from rendering flesh, from seeking his belt tied under his jacket and willing a half transformation.

Tearing his head away Thomas quickly finished, snarling as he filled her. Freda too sighed as she bit her lips to stop from crying to the skies. The coppery smell of her blood struck him and Thomas dug his nails into the tavern wall beside her.

Pulling out quickly he smirked at Freda, relishing how she projected an air of complete satisfaction, focusing on that to try and shift his gnawing hunger.

“You’re an animal,” she panted.

Oh how little did she realise. Her blood smeared her teeth though her lip was already healing and Thomas breathed in that intoxicating scent.

_Intestines protruding, slurping the wriggly organ up while munching through bone._

The pictures in his head were so vibrant and real Thomas was opening his mouth to savour a bite when Freda loosened her legs from around his waist and struggled to stand again. The movement saved her life and his. Stepping back Thomas shrugged. He straightened his hat and re-arranged his shirt and jacket to distract Freda from the heavy rasp to his voice, not excused by their lusty activities grinned.

“That’s me, darlin’. Now I better bugger off ‘fore I’m caught. See you.”

Grateful for the night which concealed his feral grin, Thomas did up his breeches and cautiously the two of them left the alley. Thomas immediately jogged off desperate to place distance between them. Haytham would have his hide if he killed a human without proper attention. He really oughta have eaten before he picked up the woman, but pleasures of the flesh – quite literally nearly – were too compelling.

Darting through the almost silent streets of Boston Thomas focused on putting as much distance as possible between his lovely acquaintance and her alluring body. Welcoming the concealing embrace of the night Thomas swiftly ran home.

Whenever there was a smattering of light from an upheld lantern by a solider or a stray citizen on the street he simply ducked down a convenient alley or once sunk further into the shadows, waiting and watching. He had a near miss when a guard came almost too close and the pulse of his blood was like the roar of a waterfall.

Shuddering as his belly tightened with the ache to kill then drink and eat his fill Thomas dug nails once more into good brickwork.

Thankfully, both for the guard and for his own hide, the guard was alerted by a noise on the other side of the church and turned to walk down calling out to the intruder.

Breathless with alarm and not his usual amusement for the hunt Thomas picked up the pace, running towards the eastern part of Central Boston, towards the docks. Rounding a corner that led behind a bunch of houses into a small green area with straight box-like fences and scattered chickens, Thomas halted, nose twitching. He recognised that scent: Benjamin Church, a fellow member of the Order. Intrigued and relieved for the distraction Thomas ducked to one side and hid under wooden stairs that led up to one of the houses. Through the gaps he watched as his colleague exited a building directly on the left.

“Thank you Doctor,” said the man who was showing Benjamin out. Thomas tilted his head, curious at the exchange. Was Benjamin on a call to a patient? Sure, he had his practice which was a beneficial front to their cause, but Haytham was quite firm on their human members not travelling alone _anywhere_ due to the recent surge in activity by the Assassins.

The Big Man had decreed that they had to be accompanied at all times by one of the werewolf brethren, (not that Charlie or Benjamin knew that of course, at least not yet), either one of the inner circle or one of the lower ring Templar brothers. In Benjamin’s case that was one Mieszko Gorski, their best marksman and ferocious both in human and wolf form.

Benjamin hadn’t been well-pleased and complained until Haytham had silenced him with an icy stare and his polished purring English tones had said that he could either maintain his practice or find himself quarantined within the wall of Fort Hill, with only soldiers for company and patients.

Benjamin had been quiet and compliant after that.

Charlie had been forced to fit in Andrey Potemkin in the Forty-fourth regiment to appease Haytham, who was almost as big as a bear when he changed. Naturally, he had done so without a murmur of protest after the initial objection unlike Benjamin. You could trust Charlie with his devotion to Haytham to be obedient like a dog.

Thomas sometime felt it was nearly as good as beer, drinking in the sight of Charles Lee, Captain and Templar Knight fawning over Haytham like a worshipper. Ever since they had become friends it was even more amusing (and dangerous as their kind had certain methods of…reinforcing bonds of friendship, methods not compatible with humans. So, yes it was hilarious to a certain point until Haytham’s frustration at not bonding as his nature intended, boiled over and the three wolves of the pack fled to safer woods).

Thomas couldn’t wait to tease him when he was a wolf, Charlie’s reactions to Haytham then were surely going to be priceless – not that they weren’t gold now.

Presently though, it was all about Benjamin.

“It was my pleasure,” Benjamin shook his customer’s hand.

Both men shifted and their bodies no longer blocked the orange-yellow light from spilling into the darkness from the partially open door. Thomas winced, the sudden intrusion was painful to his eyes which had become accustomed to the darkness.

The light cast a flickering nimbus around both men and Thomas could somehow squint and make out Benjamin’s neat appearance: a medium-height gentleman, stocky in build with combed dark brown hair and the inevitable taint of the medicine he prescribed, fastening his case up as he chatted with the stranger.

“If your wife worsens do call me again. However, I believe the poultice should be sufficient. Just keep her warm and comfortable, no drafts and no heavy rich foods. Stick to porridge and tea.”

“Of course, thank you again.”

Nodding Benjamin stepped off the step and pulled his collar up. Thomas grinned, the night wasn’t so welcoming to men who had reason to fear that the shadows contained men with sharp glistening blades.

“Which is why Benjamin, you oughta not be out like this. Could come to a right mess,” Thomas trailed his tongue over his sharp teeth and sighed. His nature was such that he didn’t require hard work to summon a half-change. He needed the belt to change of course, but it was an easier process than for those not born like him, unless of course you were a bleeding natural like Kenway or really focused like Pitcairn.

Such men were few and even fewer were permitted the secrets and blessing of Romulus.

The patient’s husband had gone inside while he contemplated and night flowed back. Happy Thomas slipped from his hiding place only to pause as Benjamin put his case on the ground and fumbled now with the lantern hanging off his belt. He finally got the lantern lit with a tinderbox.

Then with a reluctance that was sharp to Thomas’ nose, Benjamin started walking. Thomas trailed Benjamin careful not to make any noise. He wanted to know why Benjamin was alone against orders.

Benjamin walked around the corner, reaching the street proper and the faint lights of the stars and half-moon made some difference. His pace however was brisk, breaths coming in short puffs, as Benjamin nervously patted his coat pocket and Thomas’ ears heard the tinkle of money.

“Seriously Benjamin? You risked your life and our operation for money?”

Now Thomas had nothing against money. He was in the Rite to receive a nice comfortable payment, but even he toed the line. Disobey Haytham and you were likely to suffer ere the end, if you were unlucky in the first place to live through your foolishness.

Thomas wondered what to do. If he told, Haytham would be furious, but it seemed a shame to lose their doctor so maybe he could keep it secret? No, the Big Man would find out anyway.

Then he had a sneaky idea. Maybe he could have some fun at Benjamin’s expense, teaching him a lesson that would calm Haytham’s temper this instance.

It would also lessen his bloodlust as Thomas rather eat his boots than munch on Benjamin. Smirking Thomas hastened and closed the distance cautious of the light. He could already see Fort Hill looming above and knew they were near their lodgings in this area of Boston.

Thomas put his plan into motion using the cobbled streets of Boston as a prop, falling into a crouch, kicking off his boots and tying the laces around his neck. Pulling his belt around and grateful he still had some salve lingering on his sweaty frame Thomas breathed in. As he did he saw himself pulling his human shape inwards as he pushed out his wolf shape.

Yet he didn’t pull all his human form in nor all his wolf frame out, he saw them mingle in his minds-eye and ah… _there_.

Clothes bulging he stood in a half-crouch. He had lost some ground but he could see Benjamin as well as if he stood next to him and smell him as if he was rolling in the doctor’s bed.

Ah, what fun!

Bolting after Benjamin he ensured his claws tapped the cobbles then as Benjamin turned in fright, Thomas leaped onto a low roof and lay across the surface.

Swallowing Benjamin continued walking and Thomas leapt up and padded along, claws going click-click-click-SCRAPE as he purposefully dragged his feet ere he jumped off.

“What?” gasped Benjamin swivelling and fixing the rooftops then the ground with a shiny face. His breathes were now shaky and his hands made the light dance.

Thomas stayed silent. This time Benjamin began to jog, breaking out into the last street that boarded the hill. Thomas kept up and as Benjamin looked towards the Fort dashed behind Benjamin growling as he did.

Benjamin stumbled and twisted, eyes stabbing the dark.

“Who’s there?” his voice a mere quiver.

Thomas growled again, low and hungry, his belly a war of pain and suppressed joy. Benjamin didn’t wait and ran for it.

Knowing his work was done Thomas finished it with flair, snarling and darting past, fur brushing the naked back of his friend’s neck. He turned to glimpse Benjamin and the light caught his eyes causing Benjamin to cry out and fling himself at their door.

Oops.

The door was yanked open.

“What on earth man?” Charles was shoved backwards as Benjamin didn’t stop.

“Close the door!”

Charles was outraged but Thomas smelled his sudden realisation something was badly wrong when he slammed the door and asked, “Are you ill?”

“I was chased by a beast!”

“Come up to my room,” was Charles only response.

Shit, he better reach Haytham first otherwise if Charlie was spooked he was dead meat. Thomas flicked his head with a bound he was perched on his window and clambering in. Pushing his window shut with half hand-paws he touched his waist with sharp claws, peeling his belt off.

His form adjusted and Thomas peeled off his clothes so he was naked. He would bathe only so Haytham wouldn’t have more cause to chastise his behaviour or Benjamin’s.

Padding over to his solitary table Thomas lit a candle to light his way to the washroom. Picking up a towel to protect his modesty (not that he had any) and yawning Thomas decided to grab meat on the way, so he wouldn’t devour any innocents before he reported to Haytham.

Thinking of his meal Thomas swaggered out, wondering if William was back and whether John was enjoying himself in the Frontier the lucky bastard.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charles Lee is at this point a Captain according to my research and he should be wintering in New York…I’ve altered that a little, but certain other events will occur…


	3. William Johnson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> William Johnson returns after a particularly difficult time attempting to recruit his Iroquois friends for the British cause. He finds solace in his good friend John Pitcairn, reaffirming their bond. William also discovers much has happened in his absence.

_End of March 1758_

William sighed with relief as he sighted Boston. The familiar stone walls rising up flanked by guards was a pleasant image considering the last few months.

Checking his left and right he noticed his companions were paying attention not to him but to the road and the handful of people milling around in the pre-dawn hours. Satisfied it was safe he sniffed and smiled as the smells of Boston rolled over him.

The rich soil of the earth, the heavy aroma of the hay scattered about and the potent taint of manure rolled together combining with the sweat of the soldiers who patrolled this area. The musky scent of strange horses combatted with his steed. The metallic aftertaste of the rifles and metal buckles was bracing like being splashed with cold water.

Gazing around William held a breath sampling the tastes and scents. Human filth assaulted his nose, soured his tongue, yet he barely twitched: this was again something he was used to. The scents were like women vying for attention with different perfumes. A little fragment of comfort and ease at the familiarity stole into William and he relaxed slightly.

True, he much preferred the sharp clear air of the Frontier. The city could hardly compete with the fragrant blush of wild flowers, of the leaves in spring and the lush grasses as summer was in force; nor could it rival the pure cleansing flavour of the waters rushing in streams or still in lakes that were scattered throughout this wonderful land. The woodsy burning of camp fires and roasting meat by his Native allies beckoned to him, ghosts calling him home.

William bent his head. These beautiful memories were for now painful, so he tried to cast off the past and was just settling into his saddle again when he heard his name called out.

“William!”

Twisting around William saw his companions reach for weapons then release them as they spotted the intruder.

“John! My goodness I did not think to see you until I reached our quarters.”

The Scot grinned widely and steered his horse next to him. Immediately William tensed. _Blood. The hunt. Forest. City streets. Excitement. Wolf._

“What have you have been up to brother?” asked William causally, eyes for a single moment shining gold as torchlight flickered over his face.

John smiled, but without humour and brought his horse closer, ensuring that his body blocked William so none would have seen that brief flutter of inhumanity.

“Much my dear friend and brother. We must make haste to Haytham.” John cocked his head as he studied him and added quietly, tone gentle yet firm, “Here, ride with me, you are fatigued.”

William wanted to be exasperated by his friend’s worry for him, but as always could not be. Staring at John he could see the excitement tinged now with concern, lines crunched at the corner of his eyes, mouth tighter instead of slack with pleasure.

Nodding, William addressed one of the guards detailed to watch him, “I am sharing with Captain Pitcairn, stop a moment.”

“Yes Mr Johnson.” The two men halted their horses, the red cross on the wrist bands they wore showing momentarily as their coats rode up.

If they were alone William would have transferred without either he or John halting their steeds, but as few possessed the skill for such feats, though his Native brethren certainly had such skill…William winced at the reminder and focused on clutching John’s right shoulder as he carefully eased his way across, left leg hoisted over the saddle first.

Yes, a skill not many white men here had and since the Grandmaster wished to be as inconspicuous as possible…well, certain feats of skill were only to be done in particular company where it either would not be noted on or not blathered about.

Once seated behind John, William wrapped his arms around his friend and breathed deep. John’s scent was wonderfully soothing and William permitted his composure to fray just a tad so he could bask in the warm musky scent of his friend. Pressing as close as he could William relished the rough texture of John’s cloak on his chin and against his chest the unyielding line of John’s back. The firm muscle under his hands was extra solidity; in fact, the hard press of John’s body was a surety against the world, a safe place where his friend was confirming that eventually everything would be well again.

John’s body flexed under his, urging his horse into a steady canter skilfully navigating the waking streets as the sun began to rise on the horizon ushering in a strange blue light dyed a red-gold glint at the edge of the world.

William sighed, this time out of gratefulness and murmured, “It must be extremely important for us to ride with such haste to the Grandmaster.”

“I dare not say any more until we reach sanctuary. Aye let it be just that we have made progress upon this very night William. Rarely do I boast, but twice have I travelled to Boston tonight.”

William frowned as he shifted his chin against John’s shoulder. John moved, pushing up and against him, the pressure reassuring. There was only one way that John could have made it in one night to Boston twice from where he must have been: the werewolf safe-house designed for proper transformations. William knew the smell of that house anywhere; even in his sleep would he know it.

Clearly a lot had happened in his absence.

“Good news I trust?”

“Did you not hear me my dear William? Progress has been made.”

“Not all progress is good John.”

William blinked as his chin was dislodged as John shrugged. His bearded cheek rasped across John’s clean-shaven jaw.

“What ails you William? You are normally much more cheerful. Yet I find you morose, what happened in the Frontier?”

“I will tell all once we have reached headquarters.”

William could taste John’s displeasure at being waylaid in discovering what was ailing his friend but he kept his peace and within quarter of an hour they were reigning in outside the modest house that served as the living residence for the inner circle.

Fencing boarded it with Fort Hill shadowing on the left. Currently, lamps chased away patches of the night as the guards walked their duties. The growing dawn would soon dispel the need for lanterns and a new shift would begin.

William’s companions also reigned in their horses and dismounted with them. William gestured to the side, “Stable the horses then catch rest. We will be fine from here.”

“Yes sir,” replied one of the Templar guards and with a nod both men departed leading the four horses to a generous stables located at the rear of the premises.

John slung an arm over William and steered him to the house. “Come, let’s wake Haytham and grab a meal while we’re at it.”

“There is no need to wake me gentlemen.”

William raised an eyebrow. The Grandmaster for the Colonies was standing in the now open door, framed by golden light.

“I am beginning to think Charles has a point with his argument of your supernatural ability of determining exactly where you need to be.”

Haytham’s eyes remained hard, but the corner of his lips curled. “Perhaps, or as is far more accurate I was already awake and heard you ride up. Hickey was reporting to me on an important topic, one which I shall share you once you are inside.”

Haytham turned and walked into the house. Sharing a quick amused glance William and John followed, John maintaining contact. As they squeezed through the entrance John fell behind his palm a warm weight on William’s back. Mindfully shutting the door John then darted beside him and William grinned, some of his frustration fading as his friend and pack mate bumped shoulders with him.

The candles burned steadily from their brackets in the walls, basking the corridor in a welcoming glow, making William feel more relaxed.

Slipping an arm around John’s back William leant over and whispered softly, “Good thing Charles didn’t see Haytham haloed like that. We would be listening to conversations of ‘Haytham is a god’ for some time.”

John chuckled, eyes now crinkling from humour instead of worry. He turned and nudged William’s cheek with his nose. “Aye and probably swooned in the bargain.”

“If you have finished _gentlemen_ , you could join me in the kitchen.”

William winced. Ah, he had forgotten that Haytham could of course hear them. It had been too many months since he last ran with his wolf brethren and he had slipped.

Together they quickly ran the last few steps down the corridor to meet a clearly irate Grandmaster who nodded curtly to the empty seats around the large wooden table that served as the work surface for the kitchen staff. The staff must have been temporarily shifted out for their impromptu meeting.

Thomas was the only other one present and he was gnawing on a raw leg of…William sniffed…goat. Blood was dripping down his chin and his eyes were not entirely human, the hungry aspect to them suggesting mindless lust for flesh.

Sometimes William felt his life revolved around keeping Thomas out of trouble and cleaning up after himself. William pulled a chair close to the table, next to Thomas with John sitting quickly on his right. Haytham remained standing a sour note to his disposition that made their nostrils flare.

“Try to at least have a cloth on the floor when you eat Thomas, otherwise the staff will think a murder has happened here.”

Thomas grinned, chunks of flesh trapped in his teeth, eyes sparkling. “I’ll tidy up don’t you worry William. I’m on the Big Man’s good side.”

Haytham snorted, “For the present at least Hickey.” Haytham directed a cool glare at William and John.

“Whatever has brought you here early John had better be of sufficient standing to dispel your lack of regard towards Charles. It saddens me to remind you that Charles is my second-in-command and has earned my respect and I had thought that of the rest of the inner circle. I trust he hasn’t done anything to lose it?”

William put a hand on John’s arm, restraining his friend before he could protest. William sensed the frustration lacing thickly under Haytham’s anger and he could not miss how Haytham’s gaze rested on them: on how John had replaced his arm over William’s shoulders once seated and William had reciprocated by sitting as close as he could without sitting on John’s lap.

Their closeness was bitter poison to the Grandmaster who could not bond with Charles as fully as werewolves did and on a regular basis.

The Grandmaster was tenser than usual on the matter so William guessed that his impatience to turn Charles and consequently Ben was higher than usual.

In such circumstances it was best to soothe troubled waters instead of frothing up the waters of discord. “We have not forgotten Haytham. It was meant in jest and done from a sense of affection. Charles has not done anything to lose our respect. Is he well?”

John subsided and William hid his smile as his friend gently kicked his ankle in thankfulness.

Haytham inclined his head. “I believe so. After Church’s little adventure he has been playing nursemaid, yet seems no worse for wear. He has spent the last few hours sleeping with Ben.”

“Adventure?”

Haytham sat and gestured to Thomas who with a grin told his story with great relish in-between slobbering bites. William listened incredulously and when Thomas finished absent-mindedly pulled out his handkerchief throwing it at Thomas.

“Where are Potemkin and Gorski?”

Haytham pinched the bridge of his nose. “I had given them leave for a couple of days, they do require some reprieve from duty and I had ordered both Charles and Church to stay within the house unless accompanied by myself or Hickey. Charles obeyed and Church did not. I shall discuss the matter with him shortly though I sense Hickey’s little scare shall go a long way in securing order.”

William shook his head. How foolish Ben had been. He would have been easy picking for the Assassins the idiot and potentially any foreign werewolf to attack and use as a bargaining tool to incite their pack. The latter was admittedly unlikely as William has not scented any werewolf packs in Boston or nearby in the Frontier. The closest was the occasional skinwalker he had come across in his travels and that was all other tale.

“The fool,” commented John, voicing their thoughts. “At least he has been warned.”

“In a spectacular fashion,” remarked Haytham. The water in the kettle on the stove boiled. Rising Haytham retrieved it and poured it into the teapot sitting on the table. As the water hit the tea leaves William inhaled the refreshing aroma, already anticipating the invigorating brew.

Haytham indicated the bread, cheese and butter on the table. “Do make a start gentlemen. I shall fetch the honey.”

William grinned at the permission. Haytham cared deeply for his pack and like a good alpha looked after them as much as feasible, which always made William grateful and very glad he was a member of this peculiar little pack. John shared his amusement and in good spirits hauled the food closer as William grabbed their plates.

Haytham returned with the pot of honey and sat. John lifted the lid and with relish permitted a good dollop of the thick golden honey on his buttered bread. He added a lot to William’s. William personally felt his friend was trying to addict him to it as much as he was the evil wolf.

John smirked at his unvoiced opinion and continued merrily with their breakfast, replacing the honey spoon and taking a huge bite of honey and bread. William growled in a less than threatening manner and quickly poured milk into two of the tea cups, waiting for the leaves to leech into the hot water.

Haytham rolled his eyes at their antics, but he smelled of approval so William was not going to fret.

“Now John, why have you returned early from your leave?”

John swallowed and launched into his story. The next half an hour was illuminating and so changed their fortunes that William was filled with fire once again that for a moment burned away his lassitude and frustration.

All eyes settled on Haytham as John finished answering questions. The tension in the room was palpable. “What shall we do?” asked William.

The Grandmaster smiled with sharp white teeth, ears more pointed than normal. “We reconnoitre gentlemen – just reconnoitre – and then we can plan further assaults. No one tell Charles or Church for we cannot explain how we know and our spying must be achieved in wolf form.”

Reaching for the third tea cup the Grandmaster added milk and then served all three of them tea directly from the teapot. Thomas meanwhile gnawed the goat leg, now only bone left with a scattering of sinew.

Haytham sipped his tea while John blew impatiently, gulping as soon as it was cool enough. William also sipped his cup, cradling the fragile china in his large hands.

“Freshen up and we shall leave immediately. I will summon Andrey and Mieszko so that they may guard Charles and Ben while we are missing.”

“The cover of night…” ventured John.

“Do not fear Pitcairn, I don’t mean us to swan right up to the Assassin’s hideaway in broad daylight. We shall leave the proper reconnaissance for nightfall. However, I would like to have a quick check on the area and visit our friend in the carpentry store. I believe he will be amendable to aiding us after that little incident with his daughter.”

“Aye, he will.” John nodded pleased at Haytham’s sensible strategy. “I shall ask Charles to busy himself on the docks so the Assassins are drawn away so we will have some discretion. Andrey and Mieszko will be sufficient to keep them safe as will the crowd.”

That was true; Andrey Potemkin and Mieszko Gorski were more than able to keep both their human pack members safe. Satisfied William and John finished their tea and breakfast.

\-----

A street from the millinery shop in a now very much awake Boston, the Templars paused and slipped into an innocuous carpentry shop that while it did not belong to them, they had recently had done a service to the carpenter by saving his daughter from an undesirable lout.

Haytham had utilised his skill on their way and they had remained undetected. Once inside they were ushered rather eagerly into the back room. The carpenter listened as they explained their needs and nodded, enthusiasm pouring off him.

“I’m pleased to assist in any way I can.” You are fortunate indeed. The cellar of my shop extends under the buildings in this street and the next and was designed to help with storage,” he declared clapping his hands.

Mr Donovan’s gratefulness was almost a physical force that William braced his feet on the floor so as not to stumble backwards. It was wonderful to know they had made a difference to Mr Donovan’s life by saving his precious daughter and gaining an invaluable ally, but it was a trifle overwhelming. John beside him breathed shallowly more affected after his recent turn.

Mr Donovan hesitated and added reluctantly, “And possibly with other activities.”

_Smuggling._ The pack as one could practically hear their simultaneous extrapolation.

However, as one they paid courtesy to their carpenter and feigned ignorance who now slumped in relief.

Haytham picked up a saw, examining the sharpness of the ridges. “Indeed. Why may I ask?”

“Ah, initially the buildings in this street and the next all belonged to one man, a Victor Wolf. I was in his employ, but he passed away recently – he was caught up in a skirmish near one of the Forts routed by the French a year ago. His daughter now owns this street. Well, the young lady didn’t know much about the business and simply needed to sell some of the buildings to make good on some finances. She allowed me as an old employee to remain.”

“Tell me, do any of the new occupants know of the links between the buildings? And would you have any idea if the millinery shop in the next street was sold?”

“Oh I shouldn’t think so, I checked recently and the entrance to my shop and the next was undisturbed and it is not very obvious where to press. As for the millinery shop the owners are new. I believe they moved in only three months ago.”

Three months. It was possible the Assassins had discovered the network, but then again they might have not stumbled across it as they had been busy with attempting to thwart their plans and target members of the Templar Order recently. William glanced at Haytham who seemed to be thinking the same thing. There was only one way to find out.

“We would be eternally grateful if you could show us the route Mr Donovan,” Haytham said in his perfect English voice, each word handled carefully as if it was porcelain. As usual people were charmed and Mr Donovan cheerfully led them to his cellar.

The entrance was in another room and beyond the back work room. The darkness of the cellar as the door swung shut was broken by the lantern carried by Mr Donovan and Thomas. It was still quite poor, but William could easily discern the contents of the underground chamber. Chamber was the correct word for the cellar was large with stone walls.

Descending the wooden stairs William could tell that great consideration had been given to the structure. Leading them around various boxes, tools and bits of metal and thread, Mr Donovan led them to an earthen wall Mr Donovan stopped and pulled aside some boxes. There in the floor was a trap door.

Haytham immediately raised an eyebrow. “A little obvious I would have thought.”

“This is just the entrance to the well, ‘room’ that starts the tunnels under the shops.” Mr Donovan hauled it up and they saw a wooden ladder leading down.

“There is only space for two men, perhaps three.”

Haytham nodded, “I apologise, it is ingenious – a room within a room. I shall go with Mr Johnson and your good self.”

Mr Donovan nodded and descended with William and Haytham on his heels. The “hole” realised William was cramped and they were pressed tightly against each other. William tasted and scented the distinct aura of a pack member. Haytham smelled of the unscented soap he preferred: clean with a dash of the scent he used after he shaved, something heavy and dark. Haytham glanced at him and inclined his head slightly. His expression was curious and by the brief downturn of his mouth, worried.

William was sure he was not imagining the consequent bodily crowding as Haytham pressed even closer, reassuring him with touch and not scent or taste alone.

Embarrassed and feeling a surge of tiredness and frustration William focused on the wooden door.

Craning his head and he saw the carpenter dig into the earth beside it . His efforts were rewarded when he exposed a mechanism. Turning the dials so that the metal locks consisting of strange symbols aligned and suddenly there was a click and the door creaked slightly open.

Haytham’s interest was concealed to a human, but William could hear the fascinated tone just vibrating his speech, “Are all the doors similar to this one?”

“They all have various combinations yes. I can write them down for you if you wish.”

“I think that will be safer,” commented Haytham.

Mr Donovan hesitated. “You aren’t going to hurt anyone?”

Haytham smiled eyes dark. “Only those who would cause chaos and further harm upon our land.”

Mr Donovan was satisfied with this. “I’ll have it ready for you in a few minutes.”

Together they exited where Haytham filled them in as they waited.

\-----

Half an hour later they held the combinations and locations of all the doors and a map of the tunnel system for the two streets. It was an intriguing and fascinating piece of work, which William was eager to explore and he could tell John was just as anxious to unearth every inch of the underground chambers.

They were alone in the cellar as Mr Donovan had been forced to abscond to tend to a customer. William examined the paper, his researcher spirit enthralled.

“Are we heading down now?”

Haytham shook his head, “No, I would rather have the comforting embrace of darkness when we head into the tunnels. We are too exposed now, especially when in wolf form. We will spend the rest of the day studying this map and a map of the surrounding area until we know precisely where and what each shop is stationed on these two streets.”

William ran a hand over the map and corresponding combinations. “I can easily draw up copies of these documents and the list of the shops and their occupants once Mr Donovan has done one.”

“Superb,” remarked Haytham. “Pitcairn, are you able to remain and oversee discreetly a spying circle?”

“I am more than able. What exactly do you want sir?”

Ah, John was always formal when a mission was underway. William smiled fondly at his friend’s professional form.

“For the millinery shop to be watched, preferably by no one the Assassins know, until we return tonight close to midnight.”

John grinned, “That shan’t be a problem sir. I have men and women capable of carrying out your requirements.”

“Excellent, once you are content please return to our quarters for studying and rest. Thomas, busy yourself as usual in your exploits and do not come back until normal as I do not want anything to arouse their suspicions. I shall linger about the place with Charles and allow Church to visit his patients - agreed.”

“Yes sir.”

“Yes sir.”

With that they departed, Haytham discussing swiftly with Mr Donovan their need to impose on him for longer.

\-----

The sun had set when William finally could relax. It had been a frantic day which hadn’t ended when he had finished copying various documents and reports; he also had to confirm he could recall the contents. Yet the instant his mind stopped fussing over such details his low mood from earlier surged forth. Memories of the past few months rolled through him like a stream tumbling over rocks and indeed some of recollections were as painful as scraping over rocks. There was only one shining light amidst the gloom and she by necessity was not here.

Rubbing his eyes William sought comfort from his dearest friend John for he required the respite he could give, a very different one from her comforting embrace, though both were equally important in William’s world.

Wandering down the stairs to the first floor William could hear below the footsteps and voices of his Templar brethren and above on the second storey, the scratching of Charles’ pen across his reports and the tinkle of glass as Benjamin checked his medicines.

Both were occupied for the present and relieved to be his true self William entered the private living room devoted to the inner circle.

Haytham was present sitting at a table by the window, shutters down and brooding. Thomas was snoring on the overstuffed armchair shirt off, breeches partly undone and no boots or stockings. William sighed, he sometimes wondered how Thomas had survived uncaught before he had met William and been accepted into the fold and subsequent protection of the Order.

John was sitting at one of the other small circular tables, sufficient for two with a low couch behind it. A roaring fire was in the grate and suffused the surroundings with an orange ambience.

His friend was no longer wearing his uniform and was clad simply in a shirt, breeches and no stockings, bare feet propped on the table. It appeared that apart from Haytham and him, everyone was fancying undress. John smiled, yet William could not return the favour.

The worry that had been hanging about his friend all day came to the fore in John’s posture and narrowed eyes and William swallowed, throat tight.

Slumping next to John he twisted so he was facing his friend. John said nothing, just waited. William knew Haytham was listening, but deferring to interfere for which he was grateful. He needed John now.

Licking his lips William groaned as abruptly his frustration broke the banks of his restraint.

“I am not ashamed to admit John that I am weary in spirit. The war goes ill for us with the French gaining ground. How am I able to convince our Iroquois allies that siding with us will better their lives when the French keep winning? They are further ill pleased, for consequently the French harry them and threaten and cajole at turns. And that is not all John, for a few foolish idiots out of our own troops cause disruption amidst them and kill without thinking. What am I to do John? I can barely maintain the few still loyal and I fear what will happen to them if the French should win. It seems hardly likely they will be protected.”

William gazed helplessly at John who now dragged him close and wrapped his arms around him in a hug that would have crushed the bones of a human. John nosed at his neck then growled as he met material and with a firm tug with sharp teeth tore at his neck cloth with a harsh tearing noise.  

William shut his eyes, lest tears should fall. It was preferable to whisper instead the secret desires of his heart, “Only she came to me, Degonwadonti – Molly – and tried lifting my spirits.”

“Molly,” muttered John licking at his neck, “she is the woman you talked about before? She sits, as you put it ‘at our councils and outranks her father with her wisdom and charm’.”

William tilted his head to grant John a better angle for biting at his throat. “Yes, she is intelligent, wise and beautiful.”

John paused mouthing at his neck and pressed his nose against his. William smiled weakly and rubbed affectionately. John’s smile was equally small though William smelled relief that William was reacting to John’s ministrations.

Shifting John pushed William flat and awkwardly squeezed next to him. It meant William had to tangle their limbs and lock their arms around each other to the point that William wasn’t sure where his brother finished and he began.

He inhaled and sighed as John’s scent, pure and masculine washed over him and licking John’s cheek William managed a chuckle at John’s snort. On his tongue was the sweat of hard work and surrounding him was the iron muscles of a polished solider and spy. Yet it was also gentle and reassuring and William surmised that John’s wife Elizabeth gained a great deal of solace in John’s arms.

John tightened his hold and allowed William to lick his way up to his eyes and forehead, closing his lids for rough swipes. Only when had sampled John’s taste did William stop and together they laid their heads down breaths mingling, noses again touching. John’s scent folded around him and the sight of his good friend was a succour William had not thought he might see again what with the hardship he had suffered.

_Sight, touch and taste. Hearing…William anchored his hearing to the sound of John’s voice and the beat of his heart. This was security of a pack mate, of home._

“You have married her?” John’s asked, quietly.

“I have asked and she has agreed.”

“Good, she will be a boon to you and you to her.”

William smiled at John’s frankness. “You are a hard man to stay sorrowful around.”

His friend grinned, teeth sharper than before, eyes glinting golden in the fire-light and ears pointier. He bit playfully at William’s nose, yet his tone was serious, “Aye I hope so. Remember my dear William, darkness ends and order rises like the phoenix from chaos. The war will change and the Mohawk will heed your word again. For now you cannot do anything but revitalise your spirits and bring yourself to full strength, my infinitely stubborn pack mate.”

It was uplifting and all too much. That tumbling stream of emotions broke it’s banks and William laughed and sobbed, loving John all the more for his obstinacy. “Very well my dear _persistent_ John."

John chortled and William nuzzled his friend exasperated and cheered in equal measures by his antics. Truthfully, who could remain dispirited with John about the place? Gladdened for once William only just heard Haytham leave and Thomas mutter something as he and John bonded as werewolf nature decreed.

+++

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Degonwadonti known as Molly Brant, William’s Native wife from ‘Mohawk Baronet – a Biography of Sir William Johnson’ by James Thomas Flexner.
> 
> 2\. The Underground tunnels are clearly inspired by the Boston Underground in the game. : )
> 
> I am still working on the individual voices of the Templar brethren – ‘boy band’ – so please forgive any awkwardness. I hope they are beginning to develop individual traits as I go along.
> 
> Longer than normal, um…sorry?


End file.
